


Have you heard about the new 007?

by jamesraoulsilva



Category: 00silva - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Silva, M/M, tiagoxbond - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesraoulsilva/pseuds/jamesraoulsilva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond has just been promoted to 007 and he screwed up majorly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promotion

**Chapter 1 -** “Have you heard about the new double-oh-seven?”

The question was probably the most asked question in the MI6 headquarters these days. Everyone was talking about the promoted agent, who now had the license to kill. Apparently, he had made such a bold entrance as the new asset to the double-oh section, that – which was supposed to be classified as _top secret_ – was now widely known by everyone in MI6.

004 did not know what exactly had happened to this agent, or what he had done, but he refrained from asking his colleagues because as rumours spread, they become less and less authentic.

As 004 was making his way towards M’s office, he shook his head and sighed when he heard the questions again. A double-oh agent was supposed to be a damn spy, not an attraction which would focus the gazes of MI6’s countless enemies directly at their headquarters.

He burst in to M’s office without realizing there was someone else standing in her office, and he had already started speaking the words, “What the hell is going –“ when he abruptly stopped.

A blond man was standing at the window, staring through the glass at a rainy London. It was autumn in England, after all. M squeezed her lips tight and stared at 004 with piercing, gray eyes. “Double-oh four. You are not supposed to storm in to my office like this. And I’ve bloody told you over a hundred times to knock!”

“Oof, no remorse,” 004 mentioned absent-mindedly as he was looking at the blond man, side-stepping his way around M’s desk to get a better look at the man, of whom he presumed it was 007. He thought he recognized the man from somewhere, but he wasn’t able to put his finger on where or when he had seen him before.

The other man was still looking out of the window, as if there was something happening there that only he could see. It seemed he didn’t notice 004’s entrance in to the small office, which annoyed 004 greatly.

M was looking at 004, pondering whether or not she would have him flogged for his carelessness, but she sighed and reminded herself that current events were screaming for attention and had to be handled. “Double-oh four, meet double-oh seven. You must have heard from him by now, it seems the whole world has. Which is exactly our problem. Double-oh seven, why don’t you explain to him what you have done?”

Instead of turning around and talking, 007 grumbled that she should just give him the file, which was supposedly how events had taken place. M did as he asked and gave 004 the file.

He made himself comfortable by sitting himself down and putting his feet up on M’s desk, which provoked another tirade, which he ignored. He opened the file and his eyes grew wide with surprise as he was reading the file, then they narrowed and grew dark. Apparently, this 007 had killed the head of a major terrorist organization without getting any information, so now they would just pick a new leader and continue whatever it was they were doing.

He looked up at M when he was done, who shot him a glance which meant everything and nothing. Then she said, “You two will be sent out on a mission tomorrow, to solve this case. You will go back to Turkey, double-oh-seven, but this time accompanied by double-oh-four. I don’t care how you do it, but you have to figure out what they are going to do and who will be their next leader. Find him and capture him, then bring him back here _alive_. Don’t come back before you do.”

M kicked them out of their office, both with the necessary documentation and passports clamped in their hands. They left the MI6 headquarters without speaking to each other, both assuming they would see each other the next day somewhere on the airport or plane.

They did. The next day, when 007 was making himself comfortable on the airplane in one of the seats placed next to a window, he saw the other agent sitting down next to him from the corner of his eyes. He muttered “Go away.” “Why?” 004 lazily responded. “It’s not like I am drawing attention to us, and if you keep quiet there is no reason to suspect us. And, by the way, I want to get to know you before I start fixing the dilemmas you created.”

007 finally turned around and showed his face to 004, who instantly recognized the bright blue eyes from a long time ago. They had been sent on an assignment before with some other agents, back when the both of them weren’t double-ohs yet. 004’s eyes narrowed as he slowly said, “Bond. James Bond, am I right?”

He was right, as the man named James Bond made mention of a face he _thought_ he knew as well. Something was different, however. Green eyes and milky blond hair, instead of what had once been brown hair and amber eyes. “Tiago Rodriguez. Never thought I’d see you again.” Something, besides his appearance, seemed off to 007. When 004 started speaking again, he realized it was his voice. It sounded strangely different. “I am surprised you recognize me, James.”

“So am I”, was the mumbled response. In spite of 004’s earlier comment, they didn’t speak any more until the plane had landed in Turkey. During the flight, 007 did some catching up on paperwork he was supposed to be finished with ages ago and 004 was typing away at his laptop, his fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard. 007 was walking behind 004 when they made their way towards their hotel, and he noticed that the man had a slight limp. He wanted to ask how he got it, when he realized he did not actually want to talk to Tiago. He probably wouldn’t answer him anyway.

They set up their own miniature headquarters in a three-star hotel in one of the outer districts of Istanbul. “Tiago?” James asked. “Do you care which bed you get?” “No,” was the response from the loo. “It’s Raoul by the way now. Raoul Silva.” “Why? What made you change your name?” “ _Cristo_ , James, I’m in the bloody bathroom. We can talk in a moment.” “You continued the conversation,” James muttered but Tiago, or Raoul, or just fucking 004, probably couldn’t have heard it.

After he flushed the toilet and washed his hands, Raoul came back to the bedroom. “I’ve changed my name because I’ve changed”, he said while checking the beds and finally flopping onto the one in the corner. He kicked of his shoes, crossed his legs and was about to nap for a bit, when James sat down on the other bed doubtfully and asked, “How are we going to deal with this situation?” 004 drowsily responded, “I don’t know. You created this dilemma. I’m just here to assist you. Give me some time.” 007 scoffed and walked out of the hotel room, slamming the door shut behind him which startled Raoul who had almost fallen asleep already. Just before slipping into the embrace of sleep, he muttered, “What a temper...” with a slight smile playing across his lips.


	2. Trip and fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> . “The bloody problem is, you bastard, the problem is,” James prattled on, “that I fucked this up. I completely fucked this up.”

**Chapter 2 –** “Get up, you lazy fuck.”

Raoul woke up with a shock when James kicked his bed so violently the frame of the bed almost broke, which consequently made Raoul nearly fall out of the bed. “What the... It’s five a.m. double-oh-seven.” Raoul looked at James, who appeared so drunk and so fallen apart to 004 that he had to remind himself that this was another double-oh agent instead of a drunk addict. However, in 007’s current condition it was hard to see the difference, or maybe he was both anyway, Raoul couldn’t help but think. He rubbed his eyes and tried to make a compromise with the drunken man, “James... Please go to bed, whatever the problem is, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

James laughed hoarsely. “Problem? Problem?!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “The bloody problem is, you bastard, the problem is,” James prattled on, “that I fucked this up. I completely fucked this up.” Raoul got up, walked to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water. James gulped it down in one go, probably not even noticing it wasn’t alcohol. He went talking on about what a stupid moron he was, before looked at 004, befuddled, let the glass slip out of his hands on the carpet and asked, nearly incomprehensible, “did you drug me?” before he took forward a few steps and nearly tripped over the carpet.

004 nodded, before 007 actually tripped and Raoul gently caught the other agent before he fell down on the hard wooden floor. “Oof,” Raoul sighed, staggering under the other agent’s weight, while putting him onto his bed. He loosened the man’s tie, which, like some miracle, he hadn’t lost while partying that night. He also pulled 007 upright again and took off his jacket. Then he pulled the blanket over him and went to his own bed.

James woke up to the sound of Raoul typing. He was sitting on his bed, comfortably leaning against a neatly stacked pile of pillows, with a steaming cup of coffee to the bedside table next to him. With a grunt, James tilted his head to see that it was 11:00 a.m. and to pretty much vomit on the floor next to his bed. When Raoul saw that he woke up, he immediately put his laptop to the side and ran over to James’ bed, helped him up and dragged him to the bathroom. When he tried to help James further, 007 pushed the blond man away and muttered that he could “bloody do this myself, thank you very much.”

Raoul just sniggered and walked away to make some more coffee. After a while James left the bathroom, showered and somewhat refreshed, the worst of his hangover gone. He was wrapped in a towel and sat down heavily on his bed, when Raoul sat down next to him and handed him his coffee, which he hesitantly accepted.

“How did you sleep?” Raoul asked James, who thought that he couldn’t make this joke – not this early – but when he turned to look at the other senior agent he wasn’t met with a sarcastic gaze, but a sincere questioning look. Somehow this was even worse as James bloody well knew that he did not deserve this sincerity and he felt his stomach turn around. As he was searching for the words that described his blissfully dreamless night, or rather morning, he noticed that the other agent’s eyes were a bloodshot white. “I slept quite well, thank you. What about you?”

James wasn’t sure what kind of answer he expected; he still had no idea of how open this man was going to be with him, but he had expected a little more honesty than the answer that he slept OK. James was still too tired and a bit too hung-over to make a fuss out of it so he proceeded to dress himself, while Raoul explained that he had been trying to gain information about the organization they were trying to dismantle.

“What have you discovered?” James asked while putting his socks on, to which Raoul explained that they were going to have a meeting in a couple of days. As James continued by tying his shoelaces he inquired whether there was anything he could do, to which Raoul replied, “No, I’m going to hack the security feed when they have that meeting and everything has been made ready for that, until then there’s nothing we can do. We simply have no way of knowing what they are going to do now.”

Raoul folded his hands behind his back and leaned back in his chair, grinning at James, who was still processing that, in one morning, 004 had done so much more good with one laptop than he had done in a couple of weeks in Turkey in the field. “So...” James tried to retain a stoic expression, but he was at a loss what to do now, as he rarely had ‘holidays’. Raoul shot a glance at the clock and said, “Do you want to grab a bite to eat? It’s nearly half past twelve so I figured we might as well do some sight-seeing in Istanbul and dining outside of the hotel today.”

And that was what happened. They had lunch, walked around the Grand Bazaar, took snapshots of themselves standing in front of the Hagia Sophia and other major tourist spots. While doing that, they exchanged some facts about themselves, but they didn’t really have a conversation until they were dining in an exquisitely grand, and expensive, restaurant. They talked about how they came to be in MI6, they told the other something about their childhoods, but both were reserved about that subject and they both recognized that in the other and didn’t inquire any further.

When they got back to the hotel they drank some more in the hotel bar but it didn’t take long for either of them to admit that they were tired and therefore they went back to their hotel room and made ready for bed. Raoul felt a strange connection to the other man as he seemed much like him, and after he had calmed down and wasn’t drunk he was actually quite nice to speak with and easy to talk to.

As James got into his bed he shared similar thoughts about the other agent. However, he expected a good night’s sleep, but he was waken up by sounds coming of the other bed. James opened his eyes, puffy because of sleep, and saw the other man trashing around in his bed, sleeping but obviously having nightmares. James debated with himself whether to wake him up or not but when he heard the other man speak to himself he decided to get up and wake him. As he softly approached 004’s bed he couldn’t help but listen to his moans. “ _No... I won’t, I won’t, I won’t._ ”

James must’ve made a sound because Raoul’s eyes flew open and he didn’t look at first, he just kept lying there, panting, staring at the ceiling. Finally he regained his composure a bit and looked at James, who looked at him with a pitying gaze. “Don’t,” was the murmured response. “Please don’t get involved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to sleep again and then this happened, so this was written in a bit of a haze so I hope you can follow it...


	3. Cheers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Just because we have been... burdened with each other's company doesn't mean we have to get burdened with each other's actions. Well, except that I'm sitting here in Turkey, cleaning up your bloody mess."

**Chapter 3 -** The day after James was woken up in the middle of the night by 004, he was waken up at 1 p.m. after a somewhat more peaceful night, when the other agent threw a plastic bag on his bed.

"Urrghh... what time is it?" "Too late for you to be sleeping," was the dry reply.

James wasn't about to let that go and sleepily he mumbled, "swiggety swag what's in the bag," before he finally sat upright and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Raoul rolled his eyes at James' words and disappeared into the bathroom, from where he yelled back that he just had to look, before slamming the door shut. James opened the bag to find a set of earplugs, neatly tucked into a small plastic box. The shower was turned on in the bathroom and because James expected the other man to shower, he got up and rubbed his eyes again. Contrary to his expectations he wasn't left alone but the bathroom door was flung open and Raoul said, "get in and get ready, we're going to lunch at this fantastic restaurant I found this morning."

When the other double-oh didn't offer up to get to the shower, Raoul raised an eyebrow.

"Why earplugs?" was the inquiry to that gesture. The gold-haired man responded, with a somewhat softened expression, "just because we have been... burdened with each other's company doesn't mean we have to get burdened with each other's actions. Well, except that I'm sitting here in Turkey, cleaning up your bloody mess." Raoul laughed an uneasy laugh when he saw James' uncomfortable expression. Somehow, James thought, the earplugs weren't so much that he could get a restful night, but more that the other man wasn't about to show the dark depths of his unconscious mind at night.

James opened his mouth to thank him, regardless, but he changed his mind and asked, "do you see my company as a burden?"

He hadn't had any close friendships or relationships after recent events - until he realised, six years was a long time to keep a heart closed. Just when he was getting ready to take the risk of exposing his feelings to anyone - not that he had a particular person in mind - again, he was sent to Turkey where antics ensued and got into this terrible mess. And just when he felt some companionship towards this quaint man, who just didn't entirely fit in with the crowd, with his flamboyant suits, golden locks and expressive gestures - not to mention his southern-European appearance and accent in his otherwise flawless English - he said something like this. It was true that James would rather be at any other place than back here in Turkey, with the guns of a whole terrorist organisation aimed at the target on his back, but he felt that Raoul made this whole situation somewhat less grave.

Raoul sighed and walked to the window, threw it open and lit a cigarette. "We'll talk at lunch, OK?" he murmured with the cigarette between his lips.

James felt a livid anger rising up at being treated like a child and felt the urge to punch _double-oh four_ wherever he could hit him and he got up, when he saw his tired, slumped figure leaning on the windowsill, taking the cigarette from his lips with shaking fingers and blowing out the smoke, when he sighed and walked to the bathroom.

"Look at me," Raoul demanded. The two agents were sitting across from each other, outside of the _fantastic restaurant_ \- well, the food _was_ great - eating an extensive lunch while enjoying a beer in the warm autumn sun. James looked. "My hair, my eyes, my face." the agent continued, "have changed since we went on that mission together that long ago. I saw that you noticed on the plane." James gave a quick nod to acknowledge that. "I wanted to tell you how that came to be. And I want to ask of you not to interrupt me, to save your questions." "Alright."

James wondered what could be so bad that Raoul was asking this of him, after all he wasn't the only one who dyed his hair and used contact lenses. Then he saw that the other agent's hands were shaking so much he had to trap them between his legs, as if he was afraid that they would give away his secret without his mind's consent.

"I used to work in Hong Kong, station H. I was working there under M, who was setting up the British department there. As one MI6's better agents-" he said it matter-of-factly, no false pride in his words "- I was... her safety net, so to say. In 1997 _she_ deemed my work to be 'out of bounds' and gave me up to the Chinese who were after me, only to get six minor agents in return."

His face betrayed no emotion, his shoulders didn't tense, but James could plainly see the hurt, the pain of the betrayal, in his eyes.

"I didn't betray her and yet it took MI6 five months to find me - my _body,_ disposed on a garbage dump. I don't want to get into details about that now, but those particular events led to me ending up with no name, only half my face and hair without pigment." He laughed a hollow laugh when he saw James shocked expression. "But why," James started before remembering that he would shut up, but Raoul gestured that he could continue, "why stay with MI6 after that?" Another laugh.

"I had nowhere else to go to. I was still surrounded by my Chinese enemies and the only place where I could go to was MI6."

"That explains your behaviour towards M," James mumbled. 004's expression hardened and he breathed out through his nose, clearly agitated. "And the nightmares," Raoul muttered.

It took James a few seconds before he pierced the pieces together and that must've shown on his face because Raoul was staring at his face when James finally asked, with a soft voice, "What did they do to you?"

Raoul shook his head with his jaw clenched and when he spoke he hissed, "You don't want to know." And it was only now that James understood the severity of what he had been through, only now that he realised that he had been through five months of torture and still he returned to M. His unwavering loyalty towards her.

Raoul stared at him blankly and raised his glass in a dead man's pledge.


	4. Sheets and covers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His shirt was damp, sticking at his sweaty shoulders and chest. The agent tensed, then started shaking in his grip.

**Chapter 4** – Later that evening, 004 and 007 were sitting next to each other at the hotel bar, sipping a beer. Both slightly befuddled, they were talking about nothing of importance - both fully aware of the fact that they did not have the desire to share any personal information. Raoul stood up and mumbled "loo", before stumbling away. James looked at him going, and noticed the man limped a few steps before walking in a usual manner - although swaying a bit.

When he came back he sat down at the bar again, and James was just finishing his beer. He looked up, with a moustache of beer froth. Raoul sat down and chuckled, before pointing at his own upper lip. James quickly wiped the froth away, before asking "how are you allowed to be a double-oh field agent with that limp?" 004 stayed silent, breathing slowly, looking at his own beer. He grabbed the glass and swirled the contents before knocking back half the glass, emptying it.

James mouth fell open a bit, when he realised how utterly unsubtle his question was after their conversation previous afternoon. He opened his mouth further, stumbling over his words when trying to apologise, but Raoul shook his head and said, voice strangely distant, "it's only when I sit for a while and then suddenly walk, for example after long flights or here at a bar -" he nodded downwards "- with only little space for my legs."

Slowly nodding, James mumbled "I'm sorry." "That's okay," was the light-haired man's response. "I'm too good of an agent for MI6 to dispose of because of one _defect_." A smile on his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. James looked at him, an interested look on his face. He searched the other man's eyes, and he looked back. His eyes were dark but he couldn't quite make out the colour - however, a stark contrast against the bright fluorescent lights at the bar. Raoul reached into a pocket to take out a cigarette, offering the pack to James, who shook his head. The blond man lit his own, however, and in a few seconds a waiter emerged from the back of the bar, saying he can't smoke inside. 004 sighed and gave his cigarette to the waiter, who extinguished it and threw it into a trash bin. Raoul was following his movements with squinted eyes - irritated but not having the energy to put up a fight about something this small.

He closed his eyes and raised his hand, attracting the waiter's attention again. "Can you put the bill on our room's account?" Then he opened his eyes, shot a glance at James and asked, "if that's okay with you?" James nodded and so did the waiter. Raoul got up and hissed when he took a step. James quickly stepped forward and took him by the arm. "Are you alright?" The other agent jerked his arm away and half walked, half dragged himself to the lift. 007 quickly followed, looking at his feet. When James got in the lift, he pressed "1". In a matter of seconds they arrived upstairs, found their room, where James locked the door behind him. Raoul sat down on his bed heavily, and muttered, "You must think I'm pathetic."

James eyed the man quickly before he slowly said, "No, I don't think that." A short sneer was the response. "In fact," James continued, "I could probably shower you in compliments. But I don't think you're waiting for that." Raoul leaned back against the wall, a grimace on his face. He searched his pockets for his lighter and started playing with it, the flame only small and flickering. After a few seconds, the light extinguished and when he tried lighting it again, it didn't work. Raoul threw it on the ground and sighed, "disgusting."

James sat on his own bed, slowly freeing his arms from his coat and unbuttoning his shirt. The other man kicked off his shoes before turning away from James, showing him his back, and pulling the sheets over him. "Good night," James said, but he got no response. He looked at the digital alarm. It showed 2:17 a.m. and the next afternoon, the men from the organisation would meet. He set an alarm at 1 p.m. in case they didn't wake up earlier by themselves, before shrugging off his blouse, throwing it in the corner, not bothering with the rest of his clothes. He quickly got rid of his shoes and pulled his covers over him.

It wasn't not long before he got interrupted - the clock saying 4:04 this time. Grunting softly, the short-haired man turned around to look at the back of his colleague, who was trashing around. James saw a glimpse of his face and felt a shiver going down his spine. His mouth twisted, eyes squeezed shut - the fear clearly visible on his face. Quickly James threw his cover off of him and walked to the other bed, kneeling down. " _No lo hara... no quiero confesar_ ," the golden-haired man whispered, twisting his body in the sheets. James softly touched one muscled arm, whispering, "Raoul? Raoul, wake up."

No response, the man breathing heavily, lips moving rapidly but not uttering a syllable anymore. Another jerk at his arm, and he tensed, still not opening his eyes. "Raoul," James said incisively, "wake up." No reaction, and James started shaking him roughly.  
Nothing. "Raoul!" James grabbed his face, the skin feeling soft but the bone structure was not right - it felt odd. 004 snapped his eyes open, trying to jerk away from the touch, before realising it was James holding him. Dark eyes searching the bright blue ones - and James couldn't help but look away upon the sight of the other man's eyes. Terrified, is the word that shot through his mind, terrified and betrayed. The man started trembling, and instinctively James pulled him closer, cradling him. His shirt was damp, sticking at his sweaty shoulders and chest. The agent tensed, then started shaking in his grip.

He breathed out against James' chest, who in response tightened his grip a little before letting go, the other man leaning backwards, looking down. Both didn't speak, and James pulled the covers over the man, before returning to his bed.

They woke up at the alarm at 1 p.m.


	5. Degradation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a freak - no, a miscreation. Moulded into an appearance from nightmares between her skilled fingers.

**Chapter 5** \- Both men groaned simultaneously when the alarm rang; finally it was James who stuck his arm out to smack his fist down at the snooze button. Ten minutes later the alarm rang again and this time 004 sat upright, rubbing the bags under his eyes. "Do you mind if I shower first?" James buried his face in his pillow and shook his head, grumbling something. Raoul dragged himself into the bathroom, limping, and locked the door. James didn't hear the shower getting turned on, but he was too sleepy to care at that moment.

Raoul was standing in front of the mirror, his eyes wide, hair ruffled, his shirt darker than its actual colour from the transpiration that night. He gripped the sink tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white. When he couldn't stand looking at himself any more, he let go of the sink and sighed. He brought his right hand to his face and put his thumb and forefinger on his gums, slowly jerking his prosthesis loose. He let out the softest whimper when it finally clicked and he took it out of his mouth. Immediately the skin on the left side of his face sagged and he could feel the cold of the air against his left eyeball - the skin didn't connect against his eye when his prosthesis was removed.

He breathed out, and unintentionally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His breath caught and he quickly looked down, rinsing the prosthesis with cold water. He couldn't keep the thoughts away - he built the wall each day and one look at his true self was enough to bring it crashing down. He was a _freak_ \- no, a miscreation. Moulded into an appearance from nightmares between _her_ skilled fingers.

When the prosthesis was clean, he put it back in, relishing the feeling of his face being whole again. Every day it was a strange feeling, the foreign metal and material in his mouth - he tasted it but couldn't taste it, loathed it but couldn't do without it. His hand shaking, he reached for a bottle of pills which he had to take to keep his body's immune system from repelling the unknown material. This made him more prone to catching diseases and his health wasn't what it used to be. His doctors tried to tell him but he didn't want to listen to them. His body was slowly degrading. Falling apart. Not able to defend it from itself - to defend _him_ from _himself_. It had taken too much internal damage. Whatever you wanted to call it - he was slowly dying on the inside. He knew it, but the realisation hadn’t dawned upon him yet.

Two hours later, the agents were both showered, refreshed and nourished after a healthy brunch. Raoul started his laptop and quickly set up the system with which they could monitor the meeting. James had called it eavesdropping before, but Raoul had insisted on calling it _monitoring_ \- "Gives me some sense of dignity with my job," he had grinned, but the smile had not quite reached his eyes.

The meeting was boring. All the members of the organisation did was arguing about who they were going to appoint as their next leader. "Disappointing," Raoul muttered. "You'd think they would at least _try_ to be a successful master terrorist organisation." "Well, at least one thing became apparent," James retorted, "they do not seem to know MI6 is still after them after my... failure." James gritted his teeth when he called to mind the unpleasant memory. The members from the organisation had agreed upon meeting next week again, same location, same time. Raoul had frowned at this and again mentioned that they were taking their situation too lightly.

James had nodded and agreed with the man, "However, we don't know if they know they are being bugged, we don't know if this is actually a hoax and they are going to meet at some other time at another place." The other agent had nodded, looking at his laptop. The cameras showed nothing but a formerly badly-lit room, dark now, empty save for a table and some chairs. "Well then, I'll just keep... monitoring this room for the next couple of days to see if they might have decided to come back earlier, regardless of what we just heard." James replied, "sounds good. So..." He shrugged.

Raoul looked back. "I don't think there is anything we can do now." He shut the laptop down and put it away, then folded his hands in his lap, looking at them - James had noticed this before, it seemed some sort of nervous or irresolute gesture. Raoul suddenly looked back up and said, "I'm sorry I woke you up again last night. I bought you those earplugs though, I suppose they would help." He looked ashamed, so James hurried to say, "No, don't apologise. It's not like you can help it. I'd wager you suffer more from it than I do."

004 lifted his eyes up to the other man. "Have you ever had nightmares?" "Of course," the blue-eyed man responded, "that comes with this job. I dream of everyone I've killed - I always wonder if I could have done the job without killing them." The blond man regarded the agent. "It's because you're a rookie in the double-oh section. Those nightmares will probably pass." James believed the other man instinctively, he knew what he was talking about, his face was honest and his eyes compassionate. "Then what do you dream of?" James asked with a soft voice.

Dark eyes fluttering closed and then open, looking away. Raoul clenched his jaw, doubting whether to disclose his secrets to the other man, but when he looked him in the eyes he didn't see perverse curiosity but instead something more genuine. "I dream of... I dream of my time in China," he finally confessed with a quiet voice. "It was a rather large cell - they didn't want to take me out and see light when they were going to torture me. There were no windows, no light, and the cell was closed hermetically by the door. There were days where they wouldn't allow me fresh air. So when they came to torture me and open the door it was almost a relief to be able to finally breathe again. It's a common method of torture - make the prisoner feel gratitude toward the tormentors."

Raoul swallowed and blinked very fast, throwing his head in his neck to prevent salty water running down his cheeks. James slowly extended his arm and lifted one hand up to the other agent's left cheek. He softly brushed against it with his thumb before he dropped his hand again. "How did you escape?"


	6. Statues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man wept openly for the first time in years and the heavens tore open and unleashed their fury on the earth below, smothering any possibility of gaining peace of mind, sweeping away all the barricades; baring his soul and uncovering all his scars.

**Chapter 6** \- "How did I escape." Raoul's voice was soft, but had a dangerous undertone to it.  He was looking straight into James' eyes, who stared back and nodded. Raoul let out a hoarse laugh. "Are you sure you want to know? It's not a pretty little bedtime story." James didn't respond but kept looking, his eyes a bright blue. The gold-haired man licked his dry lips and looked away, before he started speaking.

That afternoon, the rain had started. As the two agents sat next to each other on James' bed, one speaking, searching for words, sometimes stopping his story completely, the other sitting silent, giving him the time to continue his story at his own pace, they listened to the rain trickling down the windows and the wind bashing against the windows.  Raoul had trapped his hands between his legs again, but sometimes they escaped from their confinement to make a gesture, illustrating his story. When he realised that, he would look startled and stick his hands back where he wanted them.

James, however, had no trouble with sitting still - when Raoul had started his story, he sat frozen, and as he progressed in the explanation of his escape he felt his insides turn hot with anger towards the person who had done this to him; to freeze again when he saw the agent's stoic expression; turning around, making him feel sick, when he looked beyond that expression to see the hurt in the other man's dark eyes.

The moment the blond man turned to silence, the thunder struck. Both of the agents turned their heads toward the window, their features illuminated by the lightning for a second - then burying their faces in darkness, their bodies like statues, not moving, not speaking, not feeling. Then 004 broke down and buried his face in his hands. The man wept openly for the first time in years and the heavens tore open and unleashed their fury on the earth below, smothering any possibility of gaining peace of mind, sweeping away all the barricades; baring his soul and uncovering all his scars.

The night brought a return journey, bringing 004 back to square one - he had several nightmares, James waking him up every time. He hushed, said it was going to be alright, his voice on the verge of breaking; this lie was the best he could offer the lost, blond man at that moment. The morning didn't offer relief, either, it rather put a stamp on the events that happened before - M called. James thanked every lord and heaven he could think of that Raoul was still silently asleep, for once, and he quickly stepped into the bathroom, to not wake him up.

"Double-oh-seven speaking," James answered the phone. "Double-oh-seven," M started, "why didn't you call earlier?" "We didn't make much progress yet," was James' unfocused response - he couldn't withhold the thoughts about this woman, for whom he would have given his life only one week earlier, but he now saw in a different light. "Do continue," was M's sharp response. James explained that they had monitored a meeting and they were going to meet again next week, in a few short sentences. M stayed silent for a while, then carefully asked, "are you alright?"

James felt something bubbling up inside of him, but he contained it as he coldly responded, "yes." "Good. I want the two of you to infiltrate their base - Q branch found some pointers, I'll send them to you." "When?" James interrupted. "We want some information back in three days, so I advise you to go tomorrow." James bit his tongue before he asked, "anything else?" "No. Be careful, double-oh-sev-" James hung up, angry because she hadn't asked about 004, angry because this was all his own fault, angry because he had to bring another man down with him - a man that had suffered enough for a lifetime.

When James stumbled out of the bathroom, Raoul was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door; James didn't see him and when the blond-haired man startled because James suddenly trashed out of the bathroom, James frightened away as well before he realised it was the other agent, apparently eavesdropping his phone call. Raoul didn't apologise, however, but was peeling at his lower lip and asked, his voice hoarse, eyes wide, "what did she say?" James regarded the other man more closely and couldn't help a pitying look shooting across his face; the blond was looking disheveled and broken.

He sighed and answered him, "we have to infiltrate their base within the next two days." Raoul looked at the ground and nodded, before turning away towards the window. It was still raining, Istanbul providing a poor sight - it was a city that needed sun to really shine. James joined him, standing in front of the window and he softly touched his arm. "Here, I bought you this," James softly said. Earlier that morning, he had gone out and bought Raoul a new lighter, since his old one stopped working a few days earlier. He pulled it out of his pocket and presented it to the other man, who accepted it, looking at the lighter. It was cheap - probably bought from one of the many stalls in the Grand Bazaar - and looked like it wouldn't be working for very long.

"I... I thought it might offer you some relief if you could smoke again," James explained with an unsteady voice. "I tried to stop," Raoul sighed, a weak smile on his lips. James looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "You should've told me," was his gloomy reply - the one time he cared enough about someone to get them a gift, it turned out to be something to try to avoid. "No no, that's alright, I appreciate that you got me this." Raoul played with the lighter with his left hand a while before he put it away, placing it on the windowsill. James was about to turn away when the other man's right hand slightly brushed his left - his fingers wrapped around James' hand, giving a soft squeeze. Raoul looked up at him with sore eyes, then let go of his hand and limped into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a bang.


	7. Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul felt increasingly more anxious, all his instincts screaming at him to turn back and start running - it was too easy, it couldn't be right.

**Chapter 7** \- Raoul slammed a new magazine into his pistol and strapped it to his left thigh - he was standing in the hotel room, only wearing a pair of black boxer shorts and a colourful blouse. He repeated the action and strapped a second gun to his right ankle. His movements were quick, sharp and without hassling; it was easy to see he was a professional at this. His face was expressionless, a mask, as he took a third and final gun, also a Glock 17, and put it into the inner pocket of  his jacket which was lying on his bed. He rolled his neck, a movement accompanied by the crunching sound of his joints cracking - the man sighed.

Meanwhile, James was fixing his firearms as well. He preferred two smaller Walther PPKs, guns he had used since he got into MI6, but only now could use in the field, being a 00-agent. He couldn't help but steal glances to the other agent's legs. They were thin, but muscled. He imagined what they would have looked like before Raoul got caught by the Chinese - tanned, strong, athletic - and he quickly looked to the ground as he felt a blood rush in his head. He put on his own suit jacket and from the corner of his eye he saw the other man doing the same, fully clothed now.

James asked, "are you ready?" and the blond gave a nod in return. His whole behaviour changed when he was focused on the mission, James noticed. The last couple of hours, since they woke up, they had gone through their plans and maps again and again, but the blond had been concentrated, no tensed muscles for no reason or nervous, quick movements -- he was professional and that made James feel calm.

They would have no communication with or support from Q branch because they hadn't been provided any means of communication when they left and there was no time to supply them with any means for support because they had to be quick, so Raoul had improvised something through their mobile phones - James wasn't really aware of the details and Raoul wasn't exactly in a great mood when he was working on it, so James just trusted him and his work. It wouldn't work if they were more than 100-something yards apart, Raoul explained, so it probably wasn't of much help. Still, both of the agents felt better that they had at least some way to communicate.

They got into a car Raoul had rented - although he didn't want to go into details and James didn't care since it was a shining new Aston Martin Vantage and Raoul allowed him behind the steering wheel - and drove towards an industrial site in the area around Istanbul. It was a twenty-minute drive and both men stayed silent, both preparing mentally for their mission. James parked some blocks away from their target, killed the engine and stepped out of the car. Raoul stayed seated for a couple of seconds, slowly breathing before he felt ready and he got out as well. They started walking towards the building, the blond limping his first steps before he got better and without speaking they arrived at their destination.

The men shot each other a glance, pulled their guns out and did a sweep of the area around the building, looking for cameras and guards, which they didn't find. Since the organisation had been sloppy before, this didn't surprise the agents in the least but a feeling of uncomfortableness started creeping up on Raoul. Not knowing anything he could do about it that moment, he activated their communication device, motioned for James to do the same, screwed a silencer on his gun and opened the door.

He advanced through the hallway which led to a room. He quickly checked his corners before stepping into the room, which was lit by rows of dirty, small windows high up in the wall. "Room clear." James joined him, and the only way further appeared to take a staircase that led down. Raoul took the lead again, carefully making his way down the steps - "stairs clear" - before he arrived in a room similar to the one upstairs, which he recognised from the feed on his computer. This meant there were cameras here. He spotted them in all four corners of the room, shot them and said, "room clear." They proceeded to a door, which led to yet another hallway which ended in a T-junction. They decided to split up, agreeing upon an arrangement they would update their status every thirty seconds.

James took the right hallway, Raoul the left. James felt his heart thumping in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins, as he couldn't screw up, not again. Raoul felt increasingly more anxious, all his instincts screaming at him to turn back and start running - it was too easy, it couldn't be right. As he was about to say this to James through his earpiece he heard static noise and a loud beep; they had lost connection. He couldn't go back now and leave James here, so he pushed on, having trouble to keep a good hold of his gun because his hands were sweaty.

James heard the noise and the beep as well and doubted what to do. Unfortunately they hadn't counted on the connection getting lost and didn't arrange anything for when that would happen, so James decided to press on, hoping their paths would cross. For a couple of minutes he advanced through hallways and badly lit rooms, until he heard something when he stood still in front of a door.

He froze, listening while holding his breath - what he heard were unmistakably sounds of extreme agony and James' desire to protect, as well as his training kicked in in a split second. He kicked open the door, gun raised and saw Raoul on his knees, head slumped down on his chest, blood trickling from his brow and his nose and his mouth and there were five men standing around him and his vision went red and he pulled the trigger five times and he remembered his debrief _seems to work best under pressure_ and then he was in front of him and held the blond's limp figure in his arms and his suit got soaked in clear red blood and James Bond was overcome with the feeling that he had horribly failed.


	8. Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He started breathing fast, the panic rising in his throat and his chest felt constricted – the door was flung open and he shielded his eyes from the sudden, harsh light that burned his retinas.

**Chapter 8** \- He was lying on a concrete prison floor and saw darkness, the fluorescent lights were off. The floor was cold, uneven and rough, chafing his back when he moved. He lay still for a while, not wanting to feel the excruciating pain when he moved. However, he moved his head a little and saw only more concrete, the only way out an iron door. He started breathing fast, the panic rising in his throat and his chest felt constricted – the door was flung open and he shielded his eyes from the sudden, harsh light that burned his retinas.

He was lying in a cherry orchard and the trees had pink leaves. The ground was carpeted with a thick layer of fallen leaves and he felt comfortable. He lay still for a while, before getting up and looking around. The trees stretched as far as he could see and the surroundings calmed him until he saw her. The grey hair, the wrinkles, she was small but not fragile. Piercing grey eyes.

He was lying on a beach and the trees were bearing coconuts, nestled between the foliage. The sand was warm underneath his back and the sun shone hot on his face. He lay still for a while, before getting up and recognizing his surroundings. The trees stretched as far as he could see and the sea was before him. It distressed him until he saw her. The grey hair, the wrinkles, she was small but not fragile. Kind brown eyes.

He stepped forward and took her hand, started drifting back towards consciousness. At the edge of his mind, clouded with dreams and ravished by a storm of nightmares, he noticed warm, gentle fingers trailing over his chest.

Two days after the raid, James paced up and down through M's office, his anger bubbling underneath a surface of indifference he had carefully built up when taking up this employment. With every step he took he felt the sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn't be the one walking around, just fine, just a little shaken. He caused all this shit in Istanbul and it was someone else who had paid the price, someone he liked. No, someone he _cared_ about. When M finally returned she looked tired but James didn't care. "How is he?" he inquired, trying to keep the trembling from his voice.

"I don't know." James was baffled -- how could she _not care_ at all? He started looking for words but M interrupted him. "You'll need to get a debrief because MI6 is worried about your capability as a double-oh." She looked at him with piercing grey eyes. "James... double-oh-seven," she corrected herself, "please take this debrief seriously." "What about _Tiago_?" It was a comment aimed to sting and James saw the hit landed, M's lips shortly turning into a grimace. "Double-oh-four will get medical tests after his initial recovery. We are worried he might not be in the state of performing active field duty because of his physical status."

James stood still for a moment, processing this all, when he realised what she had said. "My capability as a double-oh? I _killed_ five men for fuck's sake!" he shouted. Her response was immediate. "And failed to complete the mission. Your goal was to wait to see who would become the new head of the organisation and capture him alive. And not return before you did so." "You sent us on that raid! You gave us no contact with Q-branch, not even proper equipment and we knew nothing, not who would become the new head, not how many men they had!" The panic and anger and _unfairness_ of it all rising and rising, James was on the verge of exploding.

M tried to stay calm, "and that's why we sent you there, to get information. You weren't supposed to see anyone, you are bloody spies! And bloody hell, you are two double-ohs, one a senior, you should have been able to fix some form of communication there." "We did," James countered. "Silva made equipment." He was breathing heavily, then turned around on his heels and stormed out of the office before M could call him back.

James couldn't think straight. Was this really the woman he was waging his life for? Was this protecting queen and country? It was all a blur. On top of that, since he came back he hadn't slept well, he had been having nightmares. The first time he killed someone he had nightmares about that - smashing someone's skull into a sink multiple times had affected him aversely, but that came with the job. Second time was easier, indeed. Now he killed five men and he hadn't even thought about them. His nightmares were about being too late - about blond hair being drowned in pools of red blood.

So he wasn't exactly in the brightest mood when he stormed into Q-branch's department and demanded to know Raoul's location. Luckily there were a couple of new assistants who were easily frightened by a senior agent, a 00-agent even, and he soon found that he was in St Thomas hospital, which was only a twenty-minute walk away. He made it in fifteen.

He hadn't counted on the cooperation of the nurses but of course they wouldn't know they had one of England's top agents in their hospital, they only knew the patient's number. James gritted his teeth as he realised that he himself was nothing more than a number to his country – and maybe not for long, since he was about to get his license revoked. However, when he arrived at room 219, there were two policemen standing in front of the frosted glass doors - he couldn't see him. When James tried to enter the officers, expectedly, asked for his ID. He quickly showed it and tried to open the door, but one of the men grabbed his arm. "Sorry sir, we've been specifically instructed not to allow you entrance."

 _Specifically instructed?_ This must be a mistake. James stared at him for a second before he blurted out, "are you fucking blind? I just showed you my ID." The man's face turned into a grimace. "Sir, I must ask you to leave and I will not tolerate that language again." A different approach then. "He's my colleague." "I'm sorry sir, but I'll have to ask you to leave." James stepped forward and tried, again, with a soft, urging voice, "he's my friend." "Look," the man was getting agitated and his colleague was shuffling around nervously. "I don't care who you are and who he is to you, your gardener, your boss, your boyfriend, your anything, but I cannot allow you entrance. Now please leave sir, you're making a scene here and there are sick people trying to rest."

He turned around with a sinking gut feeling. He had made such a fucking mess of everything.


	9. Wake up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was childish, really, he couldn't help but think when he placed his hands around the drainpipe and started climbing.

**Chapter 9** \- When James got home that afternoon from the hospital, he poured himself some scotch - it was cheap and when he downed the first glass, he had to bite it back not to vomit it out again, the taste burning his tongue. He immediately took another glass, before he poured himself a third and sat down heavily on his couch, the bottle standing at a table to his side. His apartment felt cold - which wasn't so strange, seeing as it was in rain-flood autumn-almost-winter London - but most of all there was the feeling of something lacking. He couldn't put it into words. All the same, without the language, the thought was still there.

He missed the warm brown of the hotel room, illuminated by the Turkish sun. He missed the smell of forbidden smoking, the tobacco a reassuring memory of his childhood. He missed the taste of strong coffee, brewed every morning. He missed the sound of typing, the soft sighs when things didn't work out as planned. The wrinkles at the blond man's eyes as he smiled when he, shortly after, found a solution. It felt impossible for James to comprehend at that moment. However, it was very simple; he desired Raoul Silva's company. "Fuck me," he almost desperately said to the empty room, not wanting to admit it even to himself, as he grabbed the bottle and downed about a third in one go. He woke up some hours later and his watch showed 2:44 a.m. _Perfect_ , James vaguely thought to himself as he got up, the room spinning a little and he felt dizzy. He made it to the toilet just in time.

At 3 a.m. sharp, he was sitting in his car, cleaned up and manned up, and couldn't stop himself from having the depressing thought that if his plan didn't work out, he might just end up in the hospital himself through drunk driving. Somehow he made it and studied the building, feeling better and better as he was about to do something, something he was actually trained for, although that training never intended to help him with what he was about to do now. It was childish, really, he couldn't help but think when he placed his hands around the drainpipe and started climbing. Quickly enough, even when half pissed, he arrived at the second floor of the building and shimmied to the window of which he was fairly sure belonged to room 219.

At the edge of his mind, clouded with dreams and ravished by a storm of nightmares, he noticed warm, gentle fingers trailing over his chest. Raoul opened his eyes slightly and was welcomed to the waking world by clouded blue eyes and it reminded him of the sky and the island and Turkey and -- stop. When James saw the ocean-coloured eyes waking up, he decided he couldn't remember his problem with a connection to this man as he gave over to his feelings and firmly clasped his hand between his own. Raoul tried to say something but he was inaudible because of the oxygen mask that was strapped to his head. "Shh," James muttered soothingly as he shortly placed one hand on the blond's cheek before returning both of his hands to his lap.

"You're in London, St Thomas Hospital." James' voice was calm and detached, quiet because he didn't want to raise the guards' attention, but still firm. He crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "I found you in the warehouse and immediately contacted England, who sent someone from the Turkish department to send you back to the UK immediately with an emergency helicopter. I stayed behind to pick up our things and erase our trail. I arrived in London yesterday, one day after you. Today I paid a visit to MI6" - do not do not _do not_ mention her to him _don't_ \- "and they couldn't tell me anything about you. So I am here unofficially," he added after a while. "Oh, and it's at night but I suppose you figured that out."

James shut his mouth as he realised he was starting to ramble, so he swiftly concluded his story. "I figured they wouldn't tell you a damn thing, they didn't tell me anything. And I thought you'd be curious." Raoul had been staring at him the whole time, eyes motionless but most definitely not emotionless, as a lot of different emotions seemed to follow each other in rapid succession; fear, relief, anger, resentment, gratitude. After a moment however, all those things were replaced by a dark detachment and somehow that was even worse.

He slowly nodded and started moving his hands towards the mask to take it off, but James carefully grabbed him by his wrists, that were so painfully thin he was scared of breaking them. Raoul rolled his eyes and James felt a flash of delight as the man's old demeanor seemingly started returning, before he let his hands go, letting the blond take the mask off. James kept one eye on the monitors, suddenly glad he had been paying attention during medical classes, knowing what most of the information meant and which stats were crucial.

"Hey," Raoul said.  
"Hey," James smiled back.

A shaky smile started forming on Raoul's lips, as he asked, "so you're here unofficially?" "Hmmm," was the mumbled reply, "how are you feeling?" The blond grimaced. "Not... not so good. Which was to be expected," he added after a pause.

"I'm sorry."

Raoul stared at him dispassionately, then confused, before he grimly demanded, "why?" "We didn't agree upon anything if we lost connection, I could've been faster, I..." James shook his head. "I was the one who created this mess in the first place which was the sole reason you had to come to Istanbul." He looked down, ashamed and surprised at himself. He wouldn't often take the responsibility himself but he felt the worst thing he could do was lie to this man.

"One," Raoul started, "the agreement was as much my fault as yours." When he saw James was about to interrupt, he quickly and sternly continued. "Two, it would have been _dumb_ if you went faster and it would have put you in danger to do that, you know that as well as I do." His voice was growing stronger in volume as well as conviction as he progressed. "Three, I _liked_ being in Istanbul with you. The mission was interesting enough but mainly, the company was good." He didn't give James time to gather his thoughts, as he smiled a crooked smile and added, "four... I've been worse than this. This is merely a scratch. So stop being a bloody idiot and stop blaming yourself.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Raoul asked, "could you give me some water?" As James gave him a cup and leaned closer to give it to him, he smelled the man's scent right through all the hospital disinfectant and clean sheets and left him feeling, in a strange way, unsatisfied when he leaned back. This strange moment of bliss was broken when they heard two voices getting closer and James hurriedly whispered, "fuck, if they catch me I'm screwed, they almost gave me an official warning this afternoon." "Well..." Raoul's mind worked feverishly for a moment before he, just as hastily, whispered back, "pretend to be my boyfriend or something, I don't know."

Now it was James' turn to give him a crooked smile as he remembered that they would make no exceptions, even if he was his boyfriend. Worth a try though, he figured as he shrugged and nervously waited for the doors to be opened; there wasn’t anything else he could do in so little time. "Well then pretend it, you fuck!" Raoul hissed and James quickly took his hand, feeling incredibly childish and immature and stupid and a flush crept over his neck and jaw. Soon enough the doors were opened, with a soft hiss and the guards were startled, as this was supposed to be just a routine check. "What the... You're not supposed to be here." The guard narrowed his eyes, as he recognised the sturdy man in front of him, looking really, really uncomfortable.

James lifted his eyes and pleadingly looked at the guard, who seemed as uncomfortable as himself. The guy bit the inside of his cheek in doubt, before he hesitantly said, "five minutes. Then you leave... through the front door," he added threateningly. The 'couple' nodded innocently before the guard shut the door behind him as he left, shaking his head.

They started laughing and Raoul was out of breath soon, so James leaned forward to strap the oxygen mask back on. He hesitated before he pressed a quick kiss to the blond's cheek and made his way to the doors, not looking back.  
 _Next time, let's not pretend._


	10. My own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He casually leaned against the wall next to M's office and, well, eavesdropped their meeting. The walls were isolated, of course, but were never meant to withhold the intensity of the shouts that were yelled in the office in rapid succession.

**Chapter 10** \- The next time the men encountered each other, or rather, James caught a glimpse of a limping, blond-haired _figure_ \- to be frank, Raoul looked like crap - the blond was shuffling towards M's office in the MI6 building on Vauxhall Cross. James silently cursed under his breath and wondered whether this was a voluntary or ordered suicide mission for the man. He went downstairs a couple of floors, to get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. Everyone he met shot him pitying glances - _again_ -  undoubtedly, they had heard of his second failure in Turkey and they thought he would've surely get his license revoked. They _thought_ , indeed, because it was all pure speculation - of course MI6 hadn't told him anything yet.

James had his debrief the next day and didn't have a reason for being at MI6. So it was only by chance he had seen Raoul, as he himself was strutting around the corridors without purpose. When he returned with his coffee, which by no means lived up to the coffee he had in Turkey, he casually leaned against the wall next to M's office and, well, eavesdropped their meeting. The walls were isolated, of course, but were never meant to withhold the intensity of the shouts that were yelled in the office in rapid succession, so James only caught fits and starts of their conversation. Their disagreement. Their fight. "... no reason ... in the field again!" That was Raoul. "You are a double-oh ... job description ..." That, definitely M. James sipped his scalding hot coffee and tried to look inconspicuous as a mechanic made his way towards the lifts, directly opposite of where he stood.

"You had no reason to send me out in the field again! You know of my physical impairment," Raoul roared. "My legs never fully healed." Subconsciously he moved his hand up to brush his left cheek; upon noticing he did this, he quickly disguised the motion as an agitated head-rub. "You are a double-oh agent for God's sake, you know it's in the bloody job description that you have to carry out tasks in the field!" M shouted right back at him.

It had been years and years since China, true, but only recently he had been going back out there, back in the field, back to what he once enjoyed but now feared, as each step he took made him want to cringe in pain. The physical strain on his body in Turkey had made matters worse, quickly.

Raoul was hurt, his face contorted in a grimace as he loudly retorted, "oh, and I haven't been useful _outside_ the field to you? I'm your best hacker and you know it." "You have been useful," M sighed, "but not in the field. That's why we'll have to revoke your double-oh status."

Not _we_ , Raoul knew; she was in charge of the double-oh division and it was her decision. Sure, she would've had to clear it with the board, but she held such a high position she more or less possessed a right of veto. "You know what, forget it," he growled. "I quit."  
A pause. "You don't have to leave," she tried, "you can still be very useful for us in Q Branch-" a snigger from the blond "-where you could get a high position. The position for Quartermaster is vacant, you know that."

"I quit," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"Oh, do I have to have a reason to leave this bloody Service?" His voice was getting louder again.

"No, but I'd like to know." She looked so small, so small...

He shook his head, snapping out of it and simply said, "I'm dying. My life, for the last twenty-five years, was never my own. Not even to lose. And I'm not going to die for you again." And still, no emotion, no shock, no regret - the emotions he had been trying to get from her for years and years without end. So he didn't feel guilt as he gave her a cold stare and said, "cyanide kills a man, dear Mother," before he turned around and dragged himself out of the room with as much dignity he could scrape together.

He didn't seem to notice James as he, cripplingly slowly, made his way towards the lifts. He pressed the button when he got there and got startled by a voice he knew all too well; "they're out of order." His shoulders slumped a little as he realised who was standing behind him, or because he had to descend the stairs. James didn't know which it was. Something he _did_ know, was what he was going to do. James had always considered himself straight, a womaniser even, but his need to protect, embedded in every fibre of his being, had won from the fear and initial revulsion, which quickly subsided.

So he placed his hand on the man's shoulder and with some force made him turn around. "Can I help you down the stairs?" he said in a friendly tone. Raoul saw no reason to deny him this and he was feeling like shit anyway, so his pride hurt as an extra to this bloody awful day; why not. He leaned heavily on James as they made their way down and down and down, the stairs seeming endless for the blond, cursing himself and his legs and _her_ with every step. Eventually, they reached the ground floor, where Raoul muttered, "well, thanks, I'll see you around, I guess," and started heading for the door. James quickly caught up with him, one, two large strides. "How'd you get here?"

  
"Tube."  
"Can I give you a lift?"

The blond shot him an incredulous glance, before he shrugged. "If you don't mind." James quickly touched his elbow to guide him in the right direction - his car, his own Aston Martin _db5_ was parked one block away, not in the parking lot - and made mention of Raoul's face. Forty-something years, plus five months, plus the last few days of worry and trouble had drawn deep crow's feet at his eyes and from his nose to the corner of his mouth, the smile lines had carved deep lines of regret, pain, fear and disappointment. It was not a pretty face but James found himself indubitably drawn towards it, as the story it told could've just as well been his own.

Eventually they reached the car and Raoul easily gestured him through the London traffic to his apartment, in one of the more expensive parts of the City of Westminster, London, and quickly enough James killed the engine at the parking lot in front of an apartment near Hyde park. "Wow," James sighed. No smile. "Is it a nice apartment?" James tried again. "Not too shabby," was the amused reply, "want to come in and see what you get after a bloody well-earned double-oh salary?"

"Sure," James grinned back. He got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Raoul, who admiringly let his hand glide over the leather. "I suppose with the money you spent on this car you could've bought this apartment," he said with a sideward glance at James. "Mmm. Inherited it." Raoul studied him but then silently led them up towards his apartment, which turned out to be the whole top floor of the flat. They remained silent while riding the lift up and the first one who spoke was Raoul, who started apologising for the mess and dust and hurriedly started cleaning up as soon as they got inside, explaining he rarely had company.

"Don't," James murmured as he took one of the blond's hands in his own, drawing him close. He fell silent, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on the ground. He then surprised James by stepping even closer and hesitantly hovering his free hand above James' hip. The agent let out a soft sound from the back of his throat and released his breath, of which he hadn't realised he had been holding, when the now _ex_ -agent looped one arm around his waist, pulling them chest-to-chest.

James parted his lips and tilted his head to look Raoul in the eyes. When he did he wish he hadn't, for from those dark pools came such a sense of helplessness he felt an intruder. However, the blond closed his eyes and locked their lips together. Suddenly the mood shifted and James found himself tugging at the man's clothing, desperately looking for something to hold on to as he answered the kiss, his tongue exploring the other man's foreign palate and he drew back, surprised. Raoul shook his head slightly - _not now_ \- and James took his face in his hands and almost aggressively kissed him again, trying to soothe away the man's fears. Now it was Raoul's turn to search for a buoy and he frantically pulled the man closer, as he was melting into his hands, letting himself fall into James’ natural curve.

When they broke again for air, James started whispering. "Promise me nothing changes," he heard himself say and cursed himself inwardly for asking this now, but he had to know, the confirmation as important to him as oxygen. "I can't." James stared at him in utter incomprehension and started stammering when the blond gave a soft tug at his suit and held up one hand.

"I told you of my time in China, no?"  
"Yes, but..."  
"I have to take medication to suppress my immune system. Last week's... endeavours haven't done my body any good and..." He hesitated, not knowing how to break the news, then decided to _just say it,_ but not able to keep the exhaustion and desperation from his voice. "I'm going to die. Soon. So I cannot make that promise, James."


	11. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he woke up he was alone, the only indication that the previous afternoon hadn't been a dream was the indent on the mattress and a note on the bedside table, signed by yours truly agent 007 (for now).

**Chapter 11** \- They had stared at each other for a while. The agent not wanting to believe, the ex-agent wishing he hadn't brought this upon the other man. They had remained silent; for the moment there was nothing to discuss, everything was crystal clear - painfully so. James had sensed what Raoul needed: human company, but at that moment nothing too close, nothing too intimate. So James took his hand and started leading him towards the bed, which was hidden behind a see-through bookcase which divided the living room into two parts. Raoul took over control, hating himself for relinquishing it even for those few seconds and lay down on the bed, face down, biting back a wince when his weight was lifted off his hurting legs. He virtually tucked himself in the corner, making himself as small as possible.

James sat down beside him, leaning against the headboard, a pillow behind him to support his back. For a few minutes they stayed like that, just like that, until James hesitantly stroked the man's back, which elicited a strangled sound from the blond, who had buried his face in his blanket, his arms folded in front of him. James continued stroking his back, not applying a lot of pressure - he just wanted to let him know he was _there_. It was now that James noticed the rain, softly trickling down the windows, nothing like the storm in Turkey.

After about half an hour, the blond's breathing slowed down peacefully.  
Unbeknownst to James, he had a nightmare about the raid.  
Unfortunately, he didn't wake up.

When he woke up he was alone, the only indication that the previous afternoon hadn't been a dream was the indent on the mattress and a note on the bedside table, signed by _yours truly agent 007 (for now)_ , which informed him James was at MI6 for his debrief and would return to the apartment at about four and if that wasn't alright he should call him. Raoul searched his pockets for his phone and added a contact in his list, swiftly entering James' mobile number, but he didn't call. It was 11 a.m. and it was still raining. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with difficulty and sat like that, trying to coax himself into getting up and showering and eating breakfast and in the end he decided to tackle things one by one.

At 12 p.m. he had emerged from the bathroom, his hair dripping, making sure his prosthesis had securely clicked into place after cleaning.

At 1 p.m. he had eaten breakfast and made himself some coffee.  
At 1:15 p.m. he had settled himself in his favourite chair, a rocking chair, with a book.  
At 2 p.m. he hadn't read a single sentence.  
At 4:04 p.m. the doorbell rang and he got up to pick James up outside.  
At 4:07 p.m. they were back inside and he took a step forward to embrace the man.

Still standing entangled, James murmured tiredly against Raoul's shoulder, "hey." He closed his eyes and smiled faintly at the blond's response. "Hi." James sighed as the inevitable question followed. "How was it?" "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, his agitation badly hidden. "Try it. You need to let it out, you'll feel better after, trust me." _Trust me_ he had said, an expression often taken for granted, but trusted him James did, his mind shortly flashing back to their hotel room, Raoul's shaky voice when he told about China and how he somehow seemed relieved after he told his story.

So James took a deep breath; "they're doubting my capability as a double-oh because I failed to complete the mission and they need a total debrief, physical, medical, psychological and they're giving me time to think. As long as I need, they said," and breathed in again. A raised eyebrow in response, "such clemency. So... unlike M. MI6." "I know. But no complaints from me about that," James replied with a hint of humor in his voice. "Mmm. Well, you did better than I. You're looking at Raoul Silva, the unemployed ex-agent."

James let go of him a little bit to look at his face - bitterness and resentment - faces mere inches apart. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. I quit." A faint smile. "She offered me the position of Quartermaster. I decided to quit and live the rest of my life in relative peace." The implications of his words suddenly unbearably obvious, James took his face in his hands and caressed the blond's furrowed brow. "I..." he started but James placed his forefinger on his cupid's bow, effectively shutting the man up. He followed a trail down over his lips to his chin, which he took between his fingers. Both of the men started leaning forward and _007 (for now)_ whispered against the ex-agent's lips, "I came off badly yesterday," and all he saw were the wrinkles at the man's smiling eyes as he kissed him.

This time they took their time. Whereas yesterday it was raw emotion being channelled away and there was little kindness, now everything was tender and affectionate as they carefully tested each other, tasted each other, coffee and toothpaste, Spanish spices and British bravery, disinfectant and sweet, fake and real. They kissed, their bodies pressed flush against each other, one in sweatpants and a jumper, one suited up and wrapped in a wool coat. Slender hands tugged lightly at said coat and somewhat stronger hands buried themselves in blond waves of curls.

Raoul eventually drew back, short of breath, and made a soft sound. "Mmm." "Mmm," was James' response in kind, before they exchanged mirrored crooked smiles. Both didn't really know etiquette for _after_ these kind of moments and neither cared, so Raoul cleared his throat and asked, "telly?" to which James nodded. He shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket which he threw in a corner. They sat down together in the rocking chair, James in Raoul's lap and the blond had his arms wrapped around the strong waist that was now _his_ and buried his lips in _his_ neck. James zapped through a couple of channels before settling at Sky TV showing an old episode of _House MD_. They half-watched, half-buried themselves in thoughts.

When the commercial break started, James swung his legs over the armrest and leaned against Raoul's chest. The latter buried his face against _his_ shoulder and started breathing hot air through his blouse, sending shivers down James' spine. "Mmm." "Mmm."

James had feared he was going to miss the softness and warmth of a woman; everything else in his life had been rough and raw and hard, but with Raoul he didn't mind. It complemented him; Raoul was soft in all the right places as he pressed himself against James and he was warm and strong and made all the right sounds; Raoul's clean-shaven cheek against James' two-days old stubble felt natural; it felt like they belonged. It _never_ felt wrong; not with someone who understood.


	12. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt the slow tiredness constricting his chest, that numb feeling that keeps you from functioning, chipping away at your consciousness, threatening to drag you down in the welcoming darkness with a steel grip. He started trembling violently through the sudden shift of the chill outside to the warmth of a room with a warm, vivid human being in it.

**Chapter 12** \- A fortnight later, James was lying in his bed in his apartment, tossing and turning, as he had been doing every single night the last two weeks. He was unable to let himself gently slide down into sleep, instead mulling over and over the turn his life had taken the last two months. First, Turkey alone, then Turkey together with Raoul and then... he didn't even know what to call it. Were they ' _together_ '? He didn't know. They hadn't seen each other since the night James went to Raoul's apartment. That evening, they had gone dining out together and each went to his own apartment.

He didn't even have his phone number, but Raoul had his so why didn't he call - at which moment, James' mobile phone rang. His heart jumped but he also feared it might be MI6, calling him for some ungodly timed mission, when he remembered he wasn't officially on duty. He grabbed his phone from his nightstand but whoever called him had decided to hang up pretty quickly, as the phone went silent in his hand, showing a missed call from an unknown number. "Damnit!" he grumbled under his breath. _Better keep the phone close._

Just when he was starting to doze off, about an hour later, he was startled by a knock on his door. James glanced at his alarm clock, which informed him it was 4:21 a.m., the sudden bright red light making him feel more awake. He got up and quickly slipped on a pair of trousers - he slept naked. He reached for the nightstand drawer, pulled out his Walther PPK/s and started moving for the door, on which someone knocked again, but softly, hesitantly, as if not sure to bother the agent. He turned the keys and the lock quietly rattled open. One deep breath, and he opened the door in one swift jerk, gun raised, safety off.

And he immediately lowered the gun, safety on, put it in the back pocket of his jeans, opening his arms wide for the man standing in front of his door. The blond hesitated but didn't move. He had one hand pressed in his side, the other clutching a small weekend bag and was shaking on his legs. When he didn't move, James gently took his hand and ushered him inside, smelling the scent of cold and darkness on the man, calling to mind evenings curled up in front of the fireplace of a big old mansion -- _stop_. He noticed water drops, running into the blond hair.

Raoul stared at his feet with big, tired eyes. He felt the slow tiredness constricting his chest, that numb feeling that keeps you from functioning, chipping away at your consciousness, threatening to drag you down in the welcoming darkness with a steel grip. He started trembling violently through the sudden shift of the chill outside to the warmth of a room with a warm, vivid human being in it.

James carefully reached for the bag and wrested it out of his frozen locked fingers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the blond suddenly started stammering. "What for?" James mindfully asked, stepping closer. "For bothering you in the middle of the night, for not calling you, I'm sorry but I couldn't stand living there anymore, I can't be alone." His voice quickly reduced to a whisper and James responded in kind. "Come here." The blond still didn't move so James reached out for him, embracing him. He never knew what the blond thought, never knew if he minded it if James touched him. He felt so cold to James' touch, as his naked chest quickly absorbed the chill from his jacket.

Oblivious to him, oblivious to his surroundings it seemed, as Raoul started rapidly whispering against James' shoulder, " _lo siento_ , _lo siento_ , _lo siento_ ," and James didn't know what to respond, so after a few seconds he asked, "how'd you get here? The Tube isn't operational at this time..." He then answered his own question. "You didn't walk here, did you? You bloody idiot, come here, sit down." Raoul was so tired, so tired and everything inside him screamed at him to take over control; _what are you doing you moron, get out, go away, leave him alone_ but he couldn't even move one feet in front of the other and James had to drag him towards his bed. He gently but firmly made the man sit down on it.

His hands a bit shaky, he started undressing the man; first, the coat, zipper down, arms out. His jumper, slide hands down under it and pull it over his head, gently, _gently_ you fucker. His shirt, same approach - no, let him keep it on, he's freezing. Then, his jeans, undo the buckle, undo the button, zipper down, carefully tug it down... shoes. I forgot his shoes. OK, undo the laces, get them off. Socks? Off, now pants off and away with them.

Meanwhile Raoul sat on the bed, not lifting a limb unless James moved them. The agent disappeared for a moment only to return almost immediately with a soft towel, with which he started drying Raoul's hair and face. When he was done with him, he slid his arms around the man's waist and pulled him down with him on the bed, reaching for the extra blanket at the foot end of the bed, wrapping it around the blond, who only now seemed to start thawing.

Both men slept - for which they were grateful - wrapped in each other's warmth. Unfortunately, this night wasn't an exception from the nightmares haunting the men; both awoke two or three times, heaving, covered in cold sweat - they dreamt about being too late, about being alone, about times in the past, forgotten by others but in their minds, eroded as often-travelled paths.

Far past noon, Raoul was staring at James who was still asleep. His head felt heavy, like he was hungover or sedated, but he felt this way every morning, he felt like his disease was slowly eating away at him. James woke to two pools of lifelessness, that grew slightly more alive and vivid as they were taking him in. "Why..." James cleared his throat, his voice raspy. "Why didn't you ever buy yourself a car?" Raoul looked at him with a sad glance. "I can't drive with my legs. Why else did you think I'd let you drive in Turkey," he tried joking, "in such an expensive car, hmm?" Nevertheless, the sad undertone never really left his voice. It seemed it rarely ever did.

James changed the subject. "What have you been up to the last two weeks?" The blond shrugged. "Hospital visits, mostly. They told me..." His voice faded away. He swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, before he tried again. "They told me how long I had left." James felt his heart grow cold.

Raoul saw the man's expression change and put on his mask, his persona, as he smiled a crooked smile to hide his own fear. "One to two months, James." James stared at him a moment before he got up, threw the blankets off of him and walked away. Raoul heard some doors slamming, then glass shattering, then the faint, all-too familiar sound of a scotch bottle getting opened. He threw an arm over his eyes.

No, no _no_ , _this is not happening_. James laughed out loud in the kitchen. It sounded wrong, hollow - _just how he felt_ \- and he gritted his teeth, "fuck!" He slammed the bottle down on the kitchen counter. He had to stop running away and deal with this. Running away all his life had solved nothing - but leaving him empty-handed now. He strode into the bedroom and said, harsher than he intended the words to come out, "I don't know... I _can't_ deal with this, Raoul. I don't know how." _Denial_.

James sat himself down on the bed, next to the man who didn't seem to have heard him, his arm still over his eyes. He took his hand and carefully tried pulling his arm down. Suddenly Raoul slapped his hand away and sat upright. "And how do you think I feel about this! I'm fucking forty-four and I'm going to _die!_ " He choked on his words - the mask broken. _Anger._

James firmly grabbed him by his arms and tried to comfort him to the best of his ability. "Listen, listen, we'll get through-" "No we won't," Raoul cut him off. "Look," the agent started again, his initial fear subsiding a little and his need for giving protection started taking over, "let's face it here. We don't know how to fucking deal with this situation, but let's not push each other away because of it." _Bargaining_.

The blond grimaced before he quietly replied, "are you willing to attach yourself to me before losing it all? You shouldn't allow yourself to feel that pain for one month of... of _this?_ " He laughed, a crude but scared laugh, before he shook his head. "It's not worth it. _I'm_ not worth it. Look at me, _look_ at me-" he grabbed James chin with one hand and stared deep into the blue "-and see me for what I really am.” _Depression_.

Acceptance would not come. Not yet.


	13. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's o-" he started before Raoul loudly interrupted, "don't you dare. Don't you dare say it's okay, it's alright. It's not!"

**Chapter 13 -** After that morning, they took some time apart, only to be drawn to each other again a few hours later, not speaking of what happened, deciding that forgetting was the best, for the moment. The day after that, James woke up with a terrible feeling. The room was still dark and it felt like a presence was looming over him. James was never one to believe in superstition but he trusted his instincts and when he turned to face Raoul in bed, he froze.

It was only after a few seconds James realised he was still breathing. His chest rose and fell, sure enough, but James took a few minutes to calm down and listen to the blond's breathing, making sure he was all right, before he got out of bed and took a shower. When he was drying himself off, he heard a slam. He hurriedly wrapped a towel around himself and uneasily made his way into the living room, where he saw Raoul lying on his face, a couple of meters away from the bed.

The blond rolled to his side and pulled his legs close to him while groaning, clearly in pain - but James saw he needed his hands to pull his legs up and he feared the worst as he quickly walked over to him and knelt down, stroking his face. "Are you all right?" In response, Raoul tried to sit up and managed to do so, with a clenched jaw and the strain visible in the lines of his face, his arms shaking under his own weight. James held him and softly said, "should I call your GP?" The blond sighed before he replied, his voice sounding crushed and defeated, "I think that would be best."

"A wheelchair. I need a fucking wheelchair," Raoul roared while limping into the kitchen, searching liquor or anything with alcohol in it, anything that would numb his mind. He found the bottle James had left on the kitchen dresser the night before and started unscrewing the cap when James walked up to him and took the bottle out of his hands, placing it back on the counter, trying to soothe him and calm him down. "It's o-" he started before Raoul loudly interrupted, "don't you _dare_. Don't you dare say it's okay, it's alright. It's not!" He swept the bottle off of the counter and it broke when it hit the opposite wall.

Suddenly, James was afraid. Raoul completely lost his temper and smashed everything within reach, a hurricane of fury, mania and glass, making James crawl back until he felt the wall behind his back, until he realised - _it's the man he loved_. He ran forward, wrapping his arms around the man's chest, trapping his upper arms. Unfortunately for James, the blond was still an ex-senior double-oh agent and he easily broke free, in a reflex punching James hard on his shoulder, left, right, and left again, when he became aware of the fact that his opponent was not fighting back and was, in fact, James. Raoul completely froze and stared at him in horror, before he buried his face in his hands with a strangled howl.

James carefully closed the distance between them, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and holding the man, whose shout changed into a smothered sob. "I'm so sorry... so sorry, James..." "Shh, come here."

The next morning, it was James who wakes up first, sweaty, scared, not rested. He shivered and again turned to face the blond, immediately bringing a hand up to rest at his chest. Raoul's heartbeat was steady and calm and so was his breathing, until he woke up. "Morning," James muttered, his eyes still closed. The blond's body spasmed under his hand and Raoul sat upright, throwing his upper body over the edge of the bed, and vomited on the floor. James immediately threw his arms around his chest, steadying him while he limply hung in his arms. James buried his face in the man's back, breathing warm air through his shirt.

After a moment, Raoul wiped his mouth and lay back down on the bed, his eyes squeezed shut. James protectively wrapped his body around him and brought a hand up to wipe away the tears that were threatening to roll down Raoul's cheek. James started leaning in but Raoul pushed him away with the flat of his hand, protesting weakly, "I must smell horribly." "I. Don't. Care." However, James kissed the corner of his mouth, not wanting to make the blond uncomfortable. "Come on, I'll help you into the shower and then I'll have to go out for groceries. Can you manage?" Raoul only allowed him to help him to the shower, but then insisted he could undress himself. James let him.

When he returned, only a short while later, he quickly stowed the groceries in the refrigerator and walked into the living room, where Raoul was sitting on the couch. "Hey," James started. The blond didn't respond; he was wearing in-ear headphones, his eyes closed and his lips singing along with the lyrics without sound. James slowly sat down in an armchair across from the sofa, and looked at the blond, a smile forming on his lips - he found it terribly endearing. After a while, Raoul pulled the headphones out of his ears but remained on the sofa, his eyes still closed.

James hesitated, but then stood up and lay down next to Raoul and he wrapped his arms around his chest, startling the blond. "Hey," he murmured, "I didn't hear you coming home." James let his face rest against the soft fabric of Raoul's jumper and replied, "I was looking at you. It was cute." The blond grumbled for a moment but then James slid one hand under his jumper, scratching his back. His skin felt weird to James - strangely calloused, with ridges and James presumed it were scars, but didn't ask about it. Raoul tensed up under his hands at first, but then started relaxing, rolling his back into it, throwing his head back. "Hmm-ahh, that feels so good."

James just smiled to himself, grinning when he heard Raoul starting to _purr_ softly. When he was sure every itch had been eliminated, he stood up and started dragging the blond to the bedroom, who after a quick protest allowed him when James kissed him - he instantly relaxed in his arms. They continued kissing while lying on the bed, both eliciting tiny sounds of pleasure from the other, warming their hearts.

Of course it couldn't last. When they were lying in each other's arms, Raoul started whispering. "James. James?" James stroked his hair and mumbled, "hmm?" The blond tried to continue, searching for the right words. "When I... If I..." He swallowed audibly and tried again. "When you are certain that I'm going to die here, please don't call an ambulance." James felt the chill, that was becoming familiar, creeping up to his bones, his heart, his very soul, when Raoul spoke the first words. "Why?" was his short question. The reply was choked back. "I don't want to die in a hospital."

"..."

"Te amo."  
"I love you too."


	14. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So he unbuttoned his shirt, fully, and James saw a battlefield of white ridges which he kissed. Every. Single. One.

**Chapter 14 -** And so, a fragile routine grew. One morning, a few days later, James encountered Raoul in the bathroom, already freshly showered and clothed. It was James, only wearing boxer shorts, who felt underdressed as Raoul had made the effort to wear a button-up shirt and jeans, so he was probably feeling better today. The lower part of his face was covered in shaving cream, a wide crack appearing in the white surface as he saw James via the mirror, smiling at him.

James wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping a stoic expression as he felt the man's tenuous waist. The blond had always been slender, but not this _thin_. Raoul cut himself, pressing a finger against the cut and cursing out loud. James saw his hands trembled, so he quickly passed him the wax to stop the bleeding and picked up the razor himself. Raoul's sad, dark eyes took him in as his shoulders drooped and he accepted he had to give up something, again. After quickly shaving him, James wiped away the excess cream with a towel and leaned in, relishing his scent, appetising his desire for those full lips, the body standing before him and the soul that it confined.

He started kissing the cleanly shaven cheek and Raoul felt a shiver going down his spine, immediately leaning in. Teeth flickered in the morning rays of the sun as they laughed and kissed, embracing each other tightly, their hands roaming over the other's back, roving over the other's chest. The blond surprised James by rolling a knee into his groin, which must have cost him a lot of effort. James threw his head back while sharply breathing in, then wrapped his arms tighter around the blond's ribcage and carried him to the bedroom, put him down onto the bed.

He crawled on top of Raoul, starting to feel that sensation of getting drunk with lust, that sensation he had missed for so long. He started unbuttoning Raoul's shirt but he was withheld by the flat of his palm against his chest. James eyes dart down at the first button, the only one he managed to undo and he saw a part of a scar that started at the dip between his collarbones and ended somewhere below.

"I don't want you to undress me." A blunt statement made with a trembling voice. James dips his head to lick Raoul's neck and replies, "do you really think I care about your scars?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Raoul's nose wrinkled with anger as he hissed back through a clenched jaw. "You ass, I don't care about what you think of my appearance anymore! It's that _every_ time when I got naked, I got tortured, I got raped." His beautiful lips twisted at the last words, baring his set of straight white _fake_ teeth and he averted his face from James, who started kissing Raoul's right cheek. "That's not what I meant," James said after a while with a quiet voice. The blond let out a tiny sigh and James murmured, "let's try to give you some good memories."

So he unbuttoned his shirt, fully, and James saw a battlefield of white ridges which he kissed. Every. Single. One. Starting with his right wrist, drawing the outlines of the cigarette burns with his tongue, then moving up and kissing the calloused scars caused by sharp metal. And up. And up.

Raoul almost started hyperventilating but remembered _if you panic the punishment is worse don't show them how you feel_ \-- so none of this he conveyed to James, until he started relaxing, realising nothing bad was happening, ultimately enjoying it when his lover had mapped both of his arms and had started nipping at his chest. James finally noticed that the scar, which started at the sharp collarbones, ran down all the way to his belly button, then continuing further down. And down.

Thereafter, he carefully turned the thin man around and continued with his back, the last part, as his legs seemed to had been mercifully spared. He ended his exploration with a path from Raoul's lower back all the way up to his neck and the blond subconsciously let out a soft _mmm_ with clouded eyes, which James saw when Raoul turned himself around again underneath him. He touched James' swollen lips and shakily smiled up at him.

"You're beautiful," James sighed in the empty air between them. "I like it when you lie to me like that." Raoul shot him a crooked smile, to which James frowned and retorted, "it was not a lie." He moved his body down and started breathing hot air onto the soft, light blonde hair below the man's navel. Raoul arched up, canting his hips into it, but as he begged James to _stop_ , James detected something in his voice that was not mere playfulness. Bitterness, rather. "I'm... ah... impotent. China."

And it had been fucking hell for the blond, who had enjoyed sex like a primal need - just as much as James _bloody_ Bond, the living legend - when he was younger and this time, when it mattered he was unable.

James took this in for a moment before tightening his grip and carefully asked, while feeling that stupid flush that started to become all too familiar creeping up his neck and face, as he felt increasingly embarrassed, "would it... err... pleasure you to receive?" Another curved smile in return as Raoul squinted his eyes and his mask came back. "I'd love to but I can't, James, if I could..." He didn't finish, let out a ragged breath, almost a moan - and he swallowed before he continued. "James, you don't understand how destroyed I am. Everything, including, ah... down there, is damaged. So badly I even have to take laxatives in order not to tear open my intestines when I... well."

His voice trailed off and James tried to kiss that stupid smile off of his face. Then - "but..." and James caught a glimp of a 1996-trademarked mischievous grin, "that doesn't mean I can't do anything for you." James was suddenly painfully aware of his still half-hard cock straining visibly in his briefs and subconsciously grinded himself down impatiently. Raoul grinned once more before pulling down James' underwear, winding his fist tightly around James' length, his thumb rubbing a vein just below the head.

James was so sensitive that the pressure from the blond's slender fingers was almost too much and he started writhing around, his mouth open and soft yelps escaping with each fast half-breath - he was rapidly nearing his climax. Raoul's fist tightened and he started stroking faster, whispering James' name in his ear in that breathy voice. It pushed James completely over the edge and with a strangled moan he came hard across the other man's hand. Raoul pulled him close and cleaned him gently and with a feeling of regret James rolled off of him, pulling his boxer shorts up again, feeling spent but satisfied.

Suddenly the blond buried his face in the crook of his neck, feeling mentally exhausted. They both dozed off like that, only to awake in each other's sleepy warmth when Raoul furiously rubbed one of his eyes. "Something got under my contact," he muttered agitatedly. "Could you pass me that... for the contacts, that little bottle..." James passed it to him from the bedside table, suddenly curious as to when Raoul took his contacts out and realising he had never seen his real eye colour, apart from that one time so long ago.

Raoul muttered something as he took first one, then the other contact out of his eyes and popped the ocean-coloured discs in their container before putting it away, quickly looking down, facing away and closing his eyes. He _knew_ that James was staring and by mistake it made him focus too much on the reason why he wanted the bloody things in the first place - the memories of his old self suddenly started flooding and he was only rescued from the waves when James asked him to open his eyes. So he did.

"Tiago," James whispered as he saw the man's completely unguarded look - and because of that, or maybe because of his natural coffee-coloured irises, he looked a lot younger, and a lot more fragile. "You would have liked Tiago," Raoul murmured.

"Maybe, but I'm desperately in love with you."

The blond hugged him closer.

Three days later, a morphine drip was delivered to James' apartment. 


	15. Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul fell asleep quickly, safely harbored in James' arms. James kept thinking 'you're not going you're not going you're not leaving.'

**Chapter 15** \- Raoul had hooked himself on the morphine the day it arrived. Apparently, he had been in much pain but hadn't told James. James didn't ask how he acquired the morphine.

Raoul woke up every day with pain in his eyes, but throughout the weeks it got replaced by lifelessness, only kissed away by James in the early mornings. It was slightly better to see at least some life in his eyes, but James cringed at the amounts of pain the man must feel, seeing the stash of morphine steadily decreasing.

About two weeks after first taking the opiate, on an afternoon, Raoul was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, in a mess of wires and tubes, resting from nothing when James disturbed him by lying down next to him and combing the blonde locks with his fingers. This was how they spent the better parts of their days besides James' occasional shopping trips. That was, until M called.

James looked on his phone but it showed that it was a secured number, so of course he knew exactly who it was. He excused himself to Raoul whose only response was to open his eyes a little to watch James walking out of the room.

He picked up the phone with a tired voice. "Hello."  
"Bond?"  
"Yes, double-oh-seven speaking," he replied dispassionately.

"Bond, for Christ's sake, I knew I told you to take your time but it's been over a month. Could you come back in as soon as possible for your debrief?"  
"As long as I need is as long as I need. I want more time," he said, a lump forming in his throat as he looked towards the bedroom door. He walked from the living room to the kitchen where he started pacing up and down, up and down, waiting for M to reply.  
"Are you alright?" _Again not a word about_ him _._  
"I'll probably need about two more weeks." Then he hung up.

He returned to the bedroom and lied down again, on his stomach, burying his face in his arms and letting out a long grunt. Then he lifted up his face to see Raoul's contorted expression and he stroked his hair. "Can't you take more morphine?"

He knew the answer to this but he kept asking because he wanted to _help._ However, there was nothing he could do except being there and holding the blond's hand, but it was not enough.

"No... I told you, I might go into morphine-induced coma."

James hesitated a moment before asking something he hadn't asked before. "Don't you want that?" Raoul looked at him for a second, then stated "no," without a trace of doubt in his voice.

It would be the ultimate lack of control and lack of control was the only thing Raoul couldn't handle. Physical pain, mental pain even, he could handle to a certain, quite great extent. But to ever, _ever_ experience the feeling of control taken away again... He didn't even want to consider it, shuddering with revulsion at thought alone.

Two evenings later, James asked, with some playfulness in his voice, "alright, how about a massage?" The blond's eyes lit up at the prospect. "That would be nice." So with a soft groan he rolled over to lie on his stomach and folded his arms under his head. He only wore boxer shorts - where first he had worried about James seeing his scars he now simply didn't have the energy to care about matters like that.

James climbed off of the bed and started at his feet, pouring a generous amount of massage oil on both his hands and Raoul's skin. He worked his way up and by the time he got to the blond's back, knotted with tense muscles, Raoul had already zoned out a bit. James worked carefully to not put more stress on his skin, some bed sores already developing on the lower part of his back, near his tailbone.

When he was done, his hands starting to ache, he kissed Raoul's shoulder and whispered, "you're so strong."

Raoul surprised James by responding and he murmured "you keep me strong."

The blond sighed and twisted around so he faced James, and curled himself up in James' embrace. "Thanks -" a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth "- that feels a lot better."

They started to fall asleep like that, when Raoul started speaking again. He had made a habit out of this the last week or so, fearing his last words would be something mundane. So he whispered, "James... I want you to be careful when I'm gone."  
"You're not going yet."

"Mmm... I love you my dear, I really do."  
"I love you too."

Raoul fell asleep quickly, safely harbored in James' arms. James kept thinking _you're not going you're not going you're_ not _leaving._

But that night, he was.

James woke up at 6 a.m. and if he had hoped the moment would pass in a blur he was proven terribly wrong as everything was painfully lucid to him. No pulse, no breathing. CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Calling 999 and opening the front door.

The paramedics found him sitting in bed, clutching the blond to his chest, his face buried in his hair. When one of the attendants carefully touched his arm he was about to take defend him tooth and nail but he just couldn't move. They asked, "do you want to carry him?"

And James carried him downstairs.

And he carried the coffin.

He carried him to his last resting place.

M had seen James just before the MI6 service funeral began - as an active operative, since Raoul had never officially resigned. James was bent over the blond, in the small room where relatives and close friends could say their last farewell in some privacy, and kissed him lightly on the lips for the last time. He looked up and motioned for the lid to be placed on the coffin and the Union Jack to be draped over it before he turned away, to freeze when he saw M. She said nothing.

The next day, James had his debrief.

She told him he passed.

He decided to believe her.

Just before he walked out of her office he looked her in the eye and said, "I want him on the memorial wall. If he got an MI6 funeral he died in active service so I want him on that wall. With his real name. I know you remember it."

 

**EPILOGUE**

The Istanbul case had been resolved. There never was a new head of the organisation after James had killed the first. It turned out - they were indeed _that_ horribly organised.

James went to his flat only once where he picked up the lighter he had bought for him in Turkey and his favourite gun, the Glock 17. James started smoking. He bought a pack a week in a shop across from the flat, which was sold, his few belongings put into storage. It was what happened if an employee with no next of kin died.

After that, he would take a quick stroll through Hyde Park and allow his mind to wander free.

Each morning he would wake up, the sheer memory of everything taking his breath, almost crying out in despair when he remembered. He was a broken man, staring at the ceiling - a man at the mercy of a broken heart.

And time was cruel and he could not forget. So he built walls until he was nothing but an empty shell with _007_ engraved in the rust.

 

He was lying in a cherry orchard and the trees had pink leaves. The ground was carpeted with a thick layer of fallen leaves and he felt comfortable. He lay still for a while, before getting up and looking around. The trees stretched as far as he could see and the surroundings calmed him and it felt like coming home. He couldn't keep track of time but all he knew was that he was not hungry, not thirsty, not in pain, not cold or warm despite a complete lack of clothes. All his scars had vanished and his jaw was whole once again, his brown hair sometimes falling in front of his eyes.

After an unknown amount of time wandering through the orchard he saw James - only a few years older.

"I told you to be careful."

James turned at the words, a smirk pulling at his lips as he secured Tiago in his arms and answered, "but I am so, so very glad I did not."

Later, the question ran through Vauxhall Cross again: "Have you heard about the new 007?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... that was it. It's over.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your supporting and ever kind compliments, it helped me more than you may have realised. So, thank you.


End file.
